And so it goes
by Rojas Walrus
Summary: A collection of oneshots, that are linked together, that have popped into my head at random intervals. Updated on a stict "whenever I feel like it" basis. Bonuses for reference recognition. 100 royai themes
1. Eternal Flame

**Author's Notes (or ramblings rather)**

**Okay (or rather ok, as that really is how it should be said) so after 10 minutes of flipping through my 7 notebooks of random shit (the green one claims that it is a chemistry notebook but I'm starting to believe that it's a filthy liar: I can find math, creative writing, fanfictionous stories, drawings, doodles, and yet not a single page of chemistry anything. No, my chemistry notes reside in the yellow one that say's it's for math.) I finally found the story that I was looking for. Yay. **

**So now I'm sitting here typing Authors notes because I'm having a hard time getting down to the actual writing of the story, so right now you're gonna have to deal with my pissy ANs. Well, unless you just skip to the non-bolded section, but in that case, screw you.**

**As far as disclaimers, I see no reason for them. It's not in official ffdotnet policy to include them, and honestly they're not needed. Unless of course you're mentioning OC's and telling everyone to keep their hands off. So, everyone, Ivan is mine and you can't have him (unless you ask nicely), but I'm sure you already knew that.**

**So, while talking about Ivan, does anybody know the name of the country that is based on Russia? Me thinks it's Creta, but imnotsure. Oh, and concerning the countrys, I'm not just gonna say "Amestis represent's Germany like I've gathered the anime suggests (didn't finish it though so I can't say for sure) but rather Western culture in general, just as Xing is going to be Eastern culture and Creta (?) is Russian.**

**Please review and such, and be harsh if the situation calls for it, which it almost certainly will, but love is always appreciated. Just be realistic. Oh, and to all of you lovely people who showed love for Two Ranks and added me to author alerts (I love you guys so much) erase any expectations you might have because this is NOT in the same style as that. So yeah.**

**#######**

Theme: Military Personel

Eternal Flame

Standing at the grave of Fuehrer President Roy Mustang, Riza felt peace, sorrow, and happiness. The Eulogy had started with a beautiful blue sky, but had steadily gotten cloudier and cloudier until the very sky itself seemed to weep with the passing of a fallen leader.

"How fitting," the old woman said when the preacher asked her to give her last words, "that as our beloved Fuehrer is lowered into his eternal resting place, the heaven's themselves acknowledging the passing of the Colonel Bastard. He always was useless in the rain." Snickers could be heard from grandchildren who had clearly heard stories, whereas reminiscent laughs could be heard from their respective grandparents.

The trumpets roared, Twenty One shots were fired, and the very earth itself trembled when the casket struck the earth. Their son-in-law was the one who brought torch to light the eternal flame atop his tomb.

After the services, strangers came to her to give their respects, soldiers saluted her, regardless of whether they were a newly appointed Private or a Four Star General, and old friends came to hug her and share old memories. They would laugh at the good times, and reverently reflect on their fallen comrades.

Her son-in-law, Ivan, had taken it upon himself to care for her in her elderly years. All of his children were long gone, some making children of their own and he claimed the company would be good for both of them.

"I don't have a room specifically chosen for you, but I have four empty rooms, and I figure you're more than competent to choose for yourself." Riza turned around to have said son-in-law come into her vision. He had cleaned himself up for the formal occasion, wearing the black sash for such occasions, and the golden saber that was appointed to Generals. Every one of his medals was polished to perfection, and his normally scraggly beard was trimmed neatly.

"You know, I don't officially have to move out of the Fuehrer's mansion until a new one Fuehrer is appointed, and I doubt they'll kick me out even then."

"Out of fear that the late Roy Mustang will rise from the grave, and fry them to a crisp?" Riza smirked.

"Or worse…"

"Oh? How many pistols do you still carry?" Her smirk widened.

"Just one." Ivan looked at her disbelievingly. "Well, and a sawed off in my purse. Old habits die hard."

"You know, 30 years ago I would've been surprised." Riza could see a hint of sorrow as memories of his late wife passed through his mind.

"Rachael told me you went beet red when she outshot you so terribly."

"My house is filthy, mom," Ivan said, quickly driving the conversation elsewhere.

"Still burnt by that, huh? Well then, you would evict a poor old woman from her beautiful, clean house into your pigsty? What's that supposed to do for me?"

"For you? What are you talking about? My house needs a ladies' touch. I'm doing this for me, woman!" Her smile turned to a laugh at his retort. She enjoyed bantering with her son-in-law, even if it had taken a while to get used to his odd sense of humor. She knew it was inevitable anyway. Roy and Ivan had ganged up on her for the decision. For some reason if she was the first to pass then he would get to stay in the Fuehrer's Mansion, but if _he_ died first, the she would have to go live with Ivan. _Stubborn Roy. We both knew you would pass first..._

"I'm glad it's like this." He looked at her with understanding. "If you would have told me 60 years ago that I would be standing here, old as a sponge, at the funeral of my husband, Fuehrer-President Roy Mustang, I would have told you 'a woman can dream, can't she?' and then cried in my sleep."

"No one can say that your lives have been anything short of incredible."

"This is how it's supposed to be. Old enough to take bets on who's going to kick the bucket first, not 30 and waking up in fear, not sure if the day before was the last day that you would see a loved one. Arguments on living arrangements, instead of reprimands for giving up when all hope seemed lost."

"Life brings a lot of sadness," Ivan said, thoughts turning, once again, to Rachael. Riza bent down to pick up one of his own grandchildren who was tugging at her pant leg, and his mouth turned to a smile. "And a lot of happiness."

Ivan bent down to place the bouquet of flowers he had been carrying onto his father and Fuehrer's grave. "And so it goes." Riza put her great-grandchild down and swung the long rifle off her shoulder's and placed it next to Ivan's flowers, and murmured her own agreement.

"And so it goes."

**For the record, both Audioslave and Morphine are incredible band and work very well for mood casting. I love them.**


	2. Shot Through the Heart

**So, I don't know what to think about this. I claim it's a collection of oneshots, but it's developing more like a multichap fic. Oh well.**

**Anyway, so review as harshly as the words form in your mind. Usually I write darker, inner perspective (or intropersecteve as I call them) pieces, that either depress me or creep me out (I wrote one on a psycho-killer) but this is really my first attempt at a narrative, or, for that matter, characterization and foreshadowing through dialog. (more so the foreshadowing in chapter 1 than in this)**

**My point is that I'm straying from my forte', if you will, and I can't tell how it's going unless I get feedback. So review. Tell me it sucks, and why it sucks, or just that it sucks if you don't want to put that much effort in it. Any and all feedback is helpful (except for trolling) because it either tells me that I'm doing something right, or that I'm doing something wrong.**

Gunshot

"Concentrate on the sights, not the target, Rachael." Riza sighed. This was the first time taking her daughter out to shoot a pistol, and things were not going so well. Of course, what else could she expect from the ten year old?

"Maybe she needs a smaller gun?"Ugh. There Roy was again, with his ignorant "helpful" advice.

"Sweetheart?" The venom was dripping from her sugary sweet voice. "What did I tell you about staying out of this?" Roy couldn't help being amused.

"That I got Maes if you got her? I don't see why they both can't be Alchemists. Alchemy is a lot more reliable than flinging lead around randomly. And a lot more controllable." Ouch. That got on her nerves.

"She doesn't want to be an alchemist. And besides, more reliable? Are you kidding me? At least I don't have to worry about my guns 'accidentally' setting the couch on fire, hmm?"

"I told you that wasn't my fault…"

"Of course it wasn't dear."

"Well, at least my gloves don't run out of ammunition." His smug face couldn't see the water being hurled at his hands. When the water connected he looked at his hands blankly for a second and decided that it was best to give up.

"Either shut up or get out, Roy. I have no need for a wet match."

"Shot through the heart, dear." Sighing he exited the range leaving the mother and daughter to themselves.

"Don't worry about him, honey, you're doing fine." All things considered, she wasn't bad for her first time. She just had to learn that pistol shooting wasn't the same as rifle shooting.

The thing that impressed Riza the most, however, was the young girl's determination. Not once had she complained about it being too hard, the kick being too much, or there being too much to remember. It really reminded Riza of herself, way back when she had first picked up a gun. Only, her daughter would have a better teacher than she had…

_"Where'd ya get that Riza? I didn't know you shot."_

_"I don't. And you should get back to work, father's going to be furious if he sees that you're slacking off. I swear, Roy, you have the worst work ethic I've ever seen."_

_"Aww, come on. The old man doesn't emerge from his dungeon until after three o'clock, you know that. So how good are you?"_

_"What, at shooting? I wouldn't know, I haven't ever used this thing. But how hard could it be?"_

_"Hmmm. A lot harder than you'd think. Here, c'mon. Chris showed me the basics a few years back."_

The scraping of metal snapped her out of her memories and back to the task at hand. When the paper target got back to the shooting booth she heard her daughter shout excitedly.

"Mom! Mom! I got a bullseye!" Critically, Riza examined the target.

"Honey, a bullseye doesn't mean much. See, look. That shot is far away from where the other shots are." Rachael's face visibly fell, and Riza continued. "You're doing everything that I told you, right?" A nod. "Well then the sights are probably off. Let me see that for a second." Riza took the pistol from Rachael's hand and fired a few shots down-range."Yeah, the sights are off. You see this grouping, Rachael?" Rachael stared at a group of three holes. "That is very good. That means that your being consistent, and consistency is accuracy." Rachael's face turned into a boyish grin at the slight praise that her mother offered her and she picked up the gun with newfound determination.

Riza could easily recognize the drive in this young girl; it was the same that drove her to perfection, and the same that drove the Elric boys when they were young. Their parent's approval. Only, she knew what it was like to have a parent who never paid attention, and for that matter, never even cared, and she had vowed to never be that way. Not that she minded. The look of excitement on her daughter's face was reason enough spend all the effort it took to raise her children.

**Review. Do it.**


	3. You Think You Can Change the World?

**Hmm. I wanted to write one about Maes, Roy's son, so here goes.**

* * *

**Battlefield**

The man with black hair and golden eyes starred down at the glass in front of him and lamented. Lamented on the life he was living, lamented on the clear liquid that burned down his throat (an occurrence that was happening more and more), lamented on his future as it looked as of now (which would probably see him enlisting in the god_damn_ military of all things), and lamented that his beard was itchy and he couldn't seem to scratch to into submission. But mostly he lamented on his wasted childhood and his bastard of a father.

He had heard of people, celebrities or the fabulously wealthy, spoiling their children instead of raising them, but Maes scoffed at the idea. His parents, or rather his father (he wouldn't lump his mother in the same category as that man) had done exactly that, except without the spoiling part. His sister didn't have the same issue with his father as he did. According to her, "he tried his best andhe_ really does love us_…" That was a joke. Mom, yeah sure she did, but Dad? His dad was more in love with his job than his family.

_Mom deserved better._ That much was obvious. His mom deserved someone who hadn't showed up at 8 o'clock on nights when he should've shown up at 6, making some lame excuse about paper work. As if she believed that for a second. Even if she did, he could see through the lies. He had seen him around women, or at least women that weren't his mother. He never showed _her_ any type of affection, and Maes honestly wondered why she didn't just leave him. _Would've done us all a favor._

Maes had once asked one of his mother's friends, Havoc or something or other, about why his father was like _that_ (of course, he had seen abound Maes' coy attempts at beating around the bush, and got straight to the point) but he simply said, "You have to understand. It may not seem like it to you, but in your father's eyes there are two women in the world: your mother, and everyone else." Well, if that was the case the he damn well didn't show it.

"Friend! Oi! Wake up."

The shaking of his elbow brought him out of his daydream like trance.

"I amm awake. Juss leggo of mee…" His lucid mind heard his words fall out of his mouth in the drunken slur that he had inherited from his old man.

"Sorry friend. It's almost closing time and the bartender ordered me to make sure you weren't dead," the stocky man in front of him said with a chuckle. The man had a low voice that seemed to roll over itself in a thick northern accent. _Drachmann, _Maes thought, safely identifying the man as a foreigner. The round cap on his head only served to further confirm his suspensions. "He also said that you need a ride home."

Maes knew that he was right. While his stayed mentally awake after a night of drinking, his body suffered the results of the alcohol. "Annyone who'lll give me a ride's a friend of mine, friend. Maes Mustang."

"Ivan Gorbiavic." _Yep. Definitely Drachmann, _he thought as the bulky man took his offered hand. "Can you remember where you live? I'm not familiar with this land as of yet."

"Yeah, you sstill talk like a foreigner. Ann yeah, I r'member." The man, now known as Ivan, helped Maes into his large pickup truck. Somehow the car suited him.

"Friend," Ivan addressed him as they started down the road. "Forgive me for my intrusion, but I have a certain love for politics. If I may ask, Are you Maes Mustang, son of the Amestairan Fuehrer?"

"Yya'know, you keep callin' me friennd, yet you speak as if I'm a colleague or some shit. And yes, I amm."

"Once again, forgive me Maes. This is a foreign land to me, and I've yet to understand the customs. I just don't want any trouble."

"Nahh, you got it all mixed up. Nobody wants trouble with you." Ivan laughed at the joke, though Maes didn't understand why he found it so funny.

"So it must've been pretty, ah, cool to be the son of the Fuehrer."

"I don't that sonuvabitch." Ivan got an awkward look on his face at shutdown, and Maes couldn't help buck chuckle inwardly at the terrible attempts at conversation. Feeling sorry for him, Maes offered him a rope. "Why are you here, Ivan? Not here, but in Amestris?"

"What, Drachmanns hate Amestris, right?"

"Something like that."

"I'm going to Northern University for a term or two. Political Science."

"Ah, Professor Laswell? Have fun with that. The dreams I had In that class were truly fantastic."

"You go to NorU?"

"Went to NorU. When I said dreams, I didn't mean the kind about the future." The man laughed loudly. Once again, Maes didn't think the joke was that funny.

"You have to understand. My country is a battlefield just to survive." Ivan's sudden serious tone genuinely surprised Maes. "Not like here. Here, the Government tries to help people, to ensure peace, not encourage war." Maes was silent as Ivan inadvertently told him what a good leader his father was. "The leaders of this country have inspired me. Inspired me to try and change my country for the better. I love my country. I just want that to not be something I feel guilty about."

"That's awfully naïve, don't you think? You think you can change the world?" Ivan turned to look him in the eyes.

"Yes."

Suddenly the truck slammed into something very solid. "Shit. I think I hit a dear," came the grumblings from under his breath followed by a string of foreign words that Maes was pretty sure weren't child appropriate. Maes leaned back in his chair.

"Should've kept your eyes on the road."

* * *

**Wow. This turned out a whole helluvalot different that I planned. **

**So, as I'm sure you've figured out, I'm mostly working on dialog with these because it is something I have little experience in. So please, tell me how that's going. What's working, what's not working, tips, whatever. If you don't give me feedback, I won't get any better.**


	4. Why Am I Naked?

**When I saw this theme I kinda froze and thought "oh shit, I don't wanna write another funeral fic" so I thought for a while and this popped out. Hope you enjoy.**

Grave

Ivan rhythmically drummed the steering wheel of his old Junker-of-a-pickup truck as he sped along the highway. Yes, the radio didn't work for shit, and the low signal around this area of Drachma didn't add to the quality of sound, but he didn't really give a damn. He could have this radio replaced with one that as at least half-way decent, but he was pretty sure that adding a new stereo would at least double the value of the car and he really wasn't willing to go through the effort of modifying a car that would more than likely break down in the next months, so the radio stayed. Anyway, though the car was far from perfect, or even decent, he loved this truck, and all the little quirks about it. Plus, it managed to keep the cold of the Drachmann' winters away, and that's all that really mattered anyway.

Hearing a song that he liked (or rather, static that sounded like a song that he liked), he turned the volume up and slapped the wheel more enthusiastically. He was glad to be back in his home country. While he enjoyed his visit to Amestris, there really was no place like home. There as something that Amestris lacked that made it incomparable to Drachma. Perhaps it was the attitude of the people, the passion. Or perhaps it was the family, or maybe it was that Drachma was his country. Whatever it was, Ivan was grateful to see the sunset, drive through the blizzards, and holy shit there's a woman on the side of the road.

Slamming on the breaks, Ivan stopped as quickly as he could and rushed out to meet the lady, who was curled up into a ball and barely breathing. Quickly he whipped his coat of his back, wrapped it around her, and pulled her into his truck to assess the damage.

So was asleep, or more likely unconscious. She was pale as the grave, her ears, lips, and fingers long past the bright pink shade, now literally a shade of blue. Pressing his hand to her head, he noted that it was significantly cooler than normal. Finally taking in her facial features, she had a roundish face that was framed with dark black hair that bangs on one side that sort-of cut down her forehead. All this was accompanied by large round eyes that were pure black. _Definitely Amestarian. Why am I not surprised?_

She was in Stage 2 hypothermia, something that any Drachmann past the second grape could identify and prevent, but something that few Amestarians knew anything about. Luckily for her he came well prepared for events like this, like any good countryman, and knew the procedures to get her recovered. Or at least, most of the way recovered. Quickly he whipped his sub-temperature sleeping bag and as many hand warmers as he had on him.

Quickly pulling his truck to the side of the highway, so as not surprise any unsuspecting vehiclists, he started to strip both of them of their clothes before slipping both of themselves into the sleeping bag with the hand warmers for extra heat. Thanking the gods that she wasn't in Stage 3, he fell into a semi comfortable sleep.

Page break

Rachael Mustang woke up to the snores of a large bearded man, of whom she could feel the naked skin of pressed against her own. Of course, she considered waking up at all a miracle. Last night her car had broken down on her way to the National Drachmann University, and she had to evacuate it do to carbon monoxide emissions. What had started out with her freezing her ass off had turned into a warm sensation that led to her being unable to move her appendages. After a few hours on the road, waiting for someone to drive by, she finally realized that no one was coming and submitted herself to death, falling asleep without any real intent of waking up. Looks like life had other plans.

But first with the snoring naked man who had his arms wrapped protectively around her.

"¡Señor! ¡Despiértese! ¿Quiénes son Usted?" she said, trying to use the Drachmann she learned in preparation for coming to the country.

"You know, that's really terrible Drachmann. You should try Amestarian," the man said groggily with a slight smile. She stared at him for a second and then laughed herself. Suddenly the man slapped a hand onto her forehead and grunted positively. "Hypothemia subsided." He then unzipped the sleeping bag and stared to get dressed.

"Who are you?" she asked, not having the energy to pose the question in her usual witty manner.

"Ivan Gorbiavic. And you," he paused, looking straight at her, "are damn lucky I found you when I did. You know, it isn't smart to sleep outside in sub-zero temperatures?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"In the fire outside." She looked at him oddly, not sure if he was joking around or being serious. "They were soaked, and I didn't want to get back into them. Don't worry, I'll buy you some new ones once we get to wherever it is your going. For now, just wear these." He tossed her a set of much warmer looking wool clothes and left the truck, allowing her some time to change.

When she got out of the truck she was handed a cup of black coffee, still very hot. She felt a bit odd; she was wearing more clothing than she ever had in her life. When he saw how she was dressed, however, he reached into the truck and pulled out a hat very similar to his own, except with the ear protection pulled own instead of pinned up, and told her to put it on.

"I don't do hats," Rachael said with a slight smile.

"50% of your body heat escapes out of you head. Put on the hat." His voice and face set in solid determination, and she felt to other choice but to comply. She would admit that she felt a lot better when she put the hat on.

They stood there for a couple minutes drinking their coffee in a pleasant silence before Ivan leaned against the truck and pulled out a pipe. "So, where exactly am I taking you?" She looked down somewhat awkwardly.

"Well, I'm on my way to the NDU, but it'd be alright it you-"

"NDU? No problem. It seems we have the same destination, you'll have to abandon your car but…" Rachael waved it off.

"Damn thing nearly killed me. I have no love for it." With a puff from his pipe, he nodded and signaled to get into the truck.

"We should get going. If we leave now we can be there before sunset." With a nod Riza climbed into the truck to be followed by Ivan. "You know, miss, I never did get your name."

"Rachael… Hawkeye."

"Pleasure," he said, shaking her extended hand.

**So, I gotta say: This was by far the most fun to write. I realize it was probably a dick move to put to OC only fics back to back, but I needed one to show when Rachael and Ivan first met, and it seemed appropriate after the last one.**

**Reviews rock, and by now if your reading this I assume you know my policy on reviews. MAJOR thanks to Lyny Angell, and thanks to BrighBlackField for reviewing.**


	5. Bob's Gun Store

**If you thought that my author's notes were over after reading **_**The Duties of a Colonel**_** then would be dearly mistaken. I just didn't put them in to show respect. You see, I love author's notes (so long as they are kept out of the story) are I love writing them. So, sorry to let you down if you got all excited.**

**Anyway, I was gonna save this for "Store lined streets," but some people (*cough cough brightblackfeild cough cough*) wanted more Royai (which is fair enough) and the idea I had for this was originally a bit of a Father-son thing between Roy and Maes, but I can fit that into somewhere else. Besides, this one works just as well, if not better, for this theme as well. **

Heiki and Heiki

The buzz of the marketplace had a somewhat intoxicating feel to it. Or maybe it was the woman whose hand he was attached to. Yes, it was definitely the woman next t him. Looking slightly down to his left, he caught Riza Hawkeye's gaze in his. Grinning widely he turned back to his task at hand: the hunt for the items down his list.

"Not that I mind, sir, but why do you drag me out of bed every Saturday for this?" Looking down at her once again, he smirked his usual smirk.

"If I didn't know any better, you _do_ mind, Captain." She frowned.

"You know I don't like these crowds, sir. Too many people." Squeezing her hand gently, his smirk persisted.

"Don't you think, _Riza_, that there is something _romantic_ about the atmosphere the downtown shopping district?"

"I think there is something romantic, _Roy,_ about staying in bed with you on a Saturday morning, and not being shoved around by a bunch of dirty, smelly people."

"Ah, come on Captain, it's not that bad. Besides, I have to do this at some point in the week, and Saturday is really the only day available. It's not my fault you choose Friday to spend the night every week.

"Actually, sir, it is." At her comment his smirk turned into a grin and he pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Could we please just get this over with, Sir?" she said with a sigh.

"Don't worry, I'm almost done." Scanning his list once again he wondered if there was anything she would let him buy for her. Inwardly sighing, Roy told himself that, as usual, she would just refuse.

It didn't take long for them to gather the remaining items, and soon they were on their way back to his mansion. His appetite, however, was telling him that it wanted to go anywhere but home.

"I'm starving. You like that one place by 223rd, right?"

"That's awfully formal, sir. Besides, we don't have reservations."

"The Fuehrer doesn't need reservations, Riza. Besides, it serves a damn good lunch, and it's not so formal during the daytime" And with that his lover consented and they started to walk to the restaurant.

On the way down there, however, Roy noticed Riza's attention being pulled by a store on the side of the street. Really, she made barely any indication of her interest, and didn't mention anything as they walked by it, but Roy liked to believe himself master of reading his fiancé's emotions and her tells in general, so, naturally, he noticed the slight turn of her head when they came upon it. Not wanting to give himself away he studied the area surrounding it so that he could investigate the store later. Any store that could waive Riza's disinterest in shopping was definitely worth looking into.

Lunch had gone expectantly (with the store owner, Alice, coming out to greet them enthusiastically, declaring how thrilled she was to once again feed the Fuehrer and his future First Lady) and they headed home without any incident. When they got to his home (which Riza had affectionately knick-named his "God-Complex"), they went on with their normal Saturday's activities. Not long after they got back, and much to Roy's surprise, Riza declared that she needed to walk Hayate and that he should stay there. When she left Roy put two and two together and laughed to himself. Putting his coat back on, he started his pilgrimage to the mysterious store that Hawkeye was more than likely already at.

When he arrived at the location that he recognized as the correct destination, he looked up the sign that read "Bob's Gun Store". _Should've figured_ he thought with a smirk. Looking into the store window, he could see Riza staring at something underneath a plate of glass with interest. Strolling into the store casually, he almost immediately commanded the attention of a sales associate.

After the normal formalities Roy jumped straight into the point. "That woman over there, what is she looking at?" The young man responded without even going back to see what the item in question was.

"That would be an AR-10, sir." Seeing the blank look on Roy's face, he took the liberty to elaborate. "We just got them in last month. They are much like the state military's Sturmgewehrs, and like the Drachmann Kalashnikovs, but with a much lighter round, to reduce blowback and muzzle climb, and an entirely plastic frame." Roy frowned. Most of what the employee said was nonsense to him, though he did have some experience with the Sturmgewehrs.

"Plastic?" Roy asked, the suspicion clearly evident in his voice.

"Well, carbon fiber plastics, but yeah, basically. The gun itself in only six pounds due to the eliminated wood and metal." Not exactly sure how he should be reacting to the information, he reassured himself by noting that it held his Captain's attention, so it was probably something special.

"How much do they cost?"

"They start in at around $2ooo, sir." _Perfect._ There was no way Riza would spend that kind of money on herself, not spontaneously at least.

"Would you mind asking that woman if she is interested?"

"Of course ,sir." When the employee went over to talk to her he noticed her give her sortof sad smile. She was clearly telling her that she couldn't afford it. The employee made his back to where Roy stood. "She said that she is interested but that she wouldn't be able to affor-"Roy cut him off by shoving a check that he had filled out under his nose. The employee seemed to almost choke on his tongue when he saw the name of the man who had signed it. Roy half nodded to where Riza stood, his arrogant smirk shining brightly on his face. "Yes, of course sir- I mean President."

When the young boy, who clearly felt like a fish out of water at this point, went over to said woman and told her that the gun was paid for, she spun around and met Roy's eyes. Roy took that opportunity to approach her.

"Sir, you don't have to do this for me. I can live without this."

"Of course I know that, Captain. Don't worry about it. You never let me go and spend flagrant amounts of cash on you, so let me do it this time." Finally fully turning herself to him, she reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Well, since you're already being so nice, and since you dragged me all over the shopping district this morning, do you want to go to the range with me?" she asked a smirk of her own across her face.

"No."

**As usual, review even if you didn't like it. Especially if you didn't like it. Be as harsh as your opinion calls for, and such. Also, if you find "Bob's Gun Store" to be far to generic a name, don't. I chose the name because it is where I do all my firearm shopping and pistol shooting, not because I was desperately grabbing for a name.**


	6. Strong Enough For a Man

**Now this didn't go my way. What I wanted to write was a story about Old Riza and the sawed-off she keeps in her purse, but instead I wrote this. I don't know why, but this hasn't left my mind. Probably because I didn't write angst on Monday, so it poked its head around today. Which really doesn't make any sense, because today was a happy day where I didn't have to go to school and instead got to play Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 (Amazing! By the way) all day. Well, whatever. There WILL be a followup to this, by the way.**

**P.S.: this time I actually revised, but there might be some stupid mistakes I missed.**

Gunshot

The black rain of the night slammed into the windshield as Roy wove in and out of traffic in a desperate attempt to get home. The thought had crossed his mind that he shouldn't be in such a hurry, he was already an hour and a half late, and ten minutes wasn't going to make a difference. That thought hadn't done anything to deter his already lost race, however. He knew that he wouldn't be able to look his wife in the eyes if he hadn't done everything in his capacity to get home as soon as possible. He couldn't screw this up. Even though he already had.

When he arrived home he quickly shut off the ignition and got out of the car. Crossing the distance between the car and the front door, the sky had unrelentingly barraged him with waves of rain, leaving him drenched through his large black coat. He had really screwed this up. He knew that this had been important to his son, and, knowing such, had promised that he would be here on time. Looking at his watch, he noted that he was now officially an hour and fifty three minutes late. Riza was going to eat him alive.

He honestly couldn't remember what he was late for. For that alone, he hated himself. He knew that it was important, at least to Maes, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

The door seemed to glide open when his hand gripped the doorknob. Steeling himself for what he knew was to come, he walked into the dark house. There, to greet him, was the feminine outline that he knew belonged to his wife. He could sense her predator like gaze on him, and soon the lights were flipped on and Roy took in her appearance. The look on her face scared him shitless.

"Riza I-"

""Don't," she spat vemonously.

"But I-" This time her glare shut him up. This conversation really wasn't going the way he had wanted it to. Just the way he had expected. Her golden eyes seemed to bore into his soul, as if judging whether or not he was worth the effort. He hoped to god that he was. Not being able to take the silence any longer, he once again tried to break it.

"I'm sorry Riza. I really am. I did everything I could to make it home on time. It wasn't my fault." She stared into his eyes and let out a sigh.

"Roy, I'm tired of this. That line worked the first time, but dammit Roy, it's getting old. You promised Maes, and he believed you. I honestly can't understand why, but he did." Roy couldn't bring his eyes up to meet hers, so he just kept them cast down, looking at the floor. "I want to believe that you really mean it: that you really couldn't make it, that you really are sorry, but it's honestly getting difficult." Her eyes were filled with the hint of tears. Tears of anger, tears of desperation, tears of distrust. Roy couldn't believe himself. What kind of man could he have been if he had made this woman cry?

"Riza, I'll make it up to him, I swear. I'll do-"

"How dare you say that!" Her anger was now clear in her voice, unlike the hints from before. "How dare you claim that, when you know you can't? You know what will happen if I tell Maes that?" Her eyes were ablaze with a fiery passion. Roy struggled to find words, but couldn't. "He'll believe you, god_damnit_! He'll believe you, just to be let down, yet again, by his _useless _father!" Riza hadn't meant for the words to come out. She really hadn't. But that didn't change the impact they had.

Roy was shocked. Because he knew her words were true, that he really was a failure. His words started out calm, pitiful. "Useless? I guess you're right. I am useless. I told you I'd be a failure, but you didn't listen."

"Roy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say…"

"Sorry for what, Woman?" His words started to gain a heated momentum. "That I'm unable to be a competent father? Sorry that you chose me to father your children? Sorry that you chose me at all?" Louder and louder, angrier and angrier. "You knew damn well who I was when you chose to marry me, Riza! What, did you think that you could mold me unto something else? Into the fathering type?"

He couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth. He meant none of it, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt as if he was the puppeteer, sitting from on high, looking down upon himself. Only, his marionette wasn't swinging to the rhythms he created, and he was helpless to watch as his puppet danced an evil dance.

Tears were streaming down Riza's face. Open, miserable tears from the way her husband was treating her. "I love you Roy…" she tried desperately, but Roy was enraged at this point, deaf to anything she had to say.

"Dammit, Woman! What do you want from me?! I work my ass off every day, I'm the goddamn Fuhrur for Christsakes, and instead of being grateful for it, you bitch at me about how incompetent I am!" It was the word "bitch" that set her off. She despised that word, and he knew that. Riza had tried being calm, but now her temperence was headed down the opposite direction.

"Work your ass off? You forget that I know you too well. The words "work my ass off" have never even came close to describe you, you lazy bastard!" It truly was amazing what one will say when they are angry. "Did you even get one paper signed today, or did you put it off so you could come home late, and instead flirt with your secretary all day?"

It happened before either of them realized what was going on. Roy's hand had really moved on its own accord, and Riza hardly flinched at the pain of the flesh of his hand striking against the skin of her cheek. Both stared at the aftereffects for a second: Riza at his hand extended to his side, and Roy at the red mark across her face.

Roy's eyes widened in sheer horror at what he had done. Riza's eyes flared in a fury that he truly didn't recognize.

"Get out of my house."

Roy didn't need to be told twice.

**Please don't hate me for this.**


	7. Help me with my Petunias

**I write this for a plethora of reasons. The first and immediate reason is that the paint on my cardboard Alamo project has yet to dry. The second reason, and longer reason, is that I'm hoping to get reviews. I just committed my self to a huge project(Mustangs ROSE) which I'm starting to believe that nobody likes, yet I refuse to abandon it because of my personal ethics. The third reason is that I said that I update this on a strictly "whenever I feel like it" basis, and I feel like it. So here goes.**

Crime and Punishment

Riza casually looked through the medicine in the aisles of the convenient store. He grandchildren were spending the week at her house, and little Charles had a bad cough. She really didn't mind getting away from her home for a couple minutes, anyway. Her Grandchildren were adorable, but that didn't mean they weren't a handful. A break here and there was always appreciated.

Noticing arthritis pills, she stashed those in her bag as well. Both she and Roy suffered from bad arthritis, but Roy's was much worse. All those years were catching up, and the battle wounds they had received had done nothing to improve their physical state; both she and Roy had more wrinkles than a normal sixty year old. The years hadn't been as kind to her looks as they had her father, that was for sure.

Picking up some candy bars for her grandchildren, Riza started up for the cashier. Before she had made her way up there, however, a young man who was clearly up to no good barged his way in front of her. The boy pulled out a handgun and fired a shot into the air, demanding that the cashier put the money from the till into a pillow sack he had brought with him.

_Poor child, _Riza thought to herself. _He still has his whole life ahead of him, and he's throwing it away._ The boy was clearly not a professional. His nervous state of body gave away his inexperience while his rookie actions, he wasn't even wearing a ski mask despite the camera obviously located above the cashier, gave away his incompetence. The boy had even flinched at his own gunshot.

She noticed the cashier discreetly flick the silent panic under the table, and she made a mental note to ask that the military police have mercy on the boy. Pulling out a sawed off double barrel shotgun from her purse, she blasted a wall of rock-salt into the amateur criminal's back. Casually breaking open the top, she ejected the empty shell and replaced it with another non-lethal round. She also fetched a pair of police issue handcuffs that she kept hidden away in her purse for a moment like this, and cuffed the boy's hands behind his back.

An awful lot more police showed up to the scene than she had expected. When she saw the Fuehrer's limousine, she understood why. The store _was _rather close to the Fuehrer's Mansion, and Roy knew that she frequented it for her small needs. He probably had orders to inform him if there was ever a panic call from it. Roy was far too protective. Even though she was officially a Senior Citizen, she could still take care of herself.

The door to the Fuhrer's Limousine opened as soon as the car stopped, without waiting for his chauffer to get around to opening it. Out came Roy who quickly, yet ever dignified, rushed to where she stood. In one sweeping motion, he pulled her into his arms kissed her, relieved to see that she was still in one piece.

"Oh, come now, Roy. You don't have to make such a show of things." She was really just teasing him. She still sometimes lost her breath to Roy's shows of affection, despite having been married to him for as long as she had.

"Is a worried husband not allowed to show relief when he sees that his wife is safe, after her life is in danger?" She snuggled he head to his chest, still within his arms.

"Of course he is. Which is why you're not allowed too. If that 'young whippersnapper' posed any type of threat to me, then I'd never forgive myself for getting so old." She added the "whippersnapper" comment as a joke. It was a way she often made fun of the old codgers who did nothing but sit on their porch and tell kids to get off their lawn. Roy sighed.

"I suppose that 'young whippersnapper' picked the wrong store to rob. He's going to receive a nice firm talking to."

"Roy, be nice. He's probably only seventeen." Riza said this with firm resolution. He didn't have to end up a hardened criminal, but he would if he got a ridiculous of jail time. Community service would be a better punishment.

"Don't worry, honey. He'll shit his pants when he has to stand in front of my Generals while I lecture him. I'll let him off with a week, tops." Riza planted a kiss on his old, wrinkly nose.

"Three days. And make him help me plant my petunias."

**Wow. That's gotta be the only thing I've written in the past few weeks that I actually like. You know the drill, guys. Review, and be honest.**


	8. My Name is Mustang

Dammit. Fuck, shit, and any other profanities that he can think of. Was he the best husband in the world? Fuck no. Did he ever believe that he was? Fuck no. Did that change the fact that she still loved him? For her sake, he hoped it did. What he had just done, raised a hand against his wife, was damn near unforgiveable. He hoped she realized that. And he didn't at the same time. Dammit, he couldn't believe it, but he still held on to the desperate hope that she still loved him, that she still needed him.

The alcohol wasn't helping. It should be helping. He remembered, from a very, very long time ago, that the burning liquor helped with things like this, but this time it wasn't helping at all. In fact, it was only making it worse. It was making his mind cloudy, yes, it wasn't that it wasn't taking its effect on him. But the problem was that it was making it impossible to focus on anything else. _Bastard, _he thought. _You don't deserve relief. _What kind of person was he to go and seek refuge from what he had done?

_Maes is gunna kill me when he finds out._ Dammit. Now he was here, here being the one place that Riza had forbade him to go to when she married him. One of the promises he had made was to never go to the bottle again, and he managed to fuck that one up as well. Shit, why stop there? He was on a mother-fucking role here; why not see if there were any more ways to screw up his marriage? Maybe if he did then she would finally get the idea that _she deserved better _than fuck-up like him.

Maybe if he downed enough of these small glasses of whiskey then the alcohol would overrun his system and he'd die from alcohol poisoning. That seemed like the best option at this point, so long as he could keep the barkeeper unaware of just how many he had so far. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to show his face to Riza at this point, much less enter his house. Her house. True, the house was in his name, being the Fuehrer's mansion, but that was the extent of it; in name only.

Ironic, he had kicked one monster out of the mansion, only to replace it with another.

Of course, he knew that the bartender wouldn't let him drink himself into oblivion. Julius knew his limits, from all those years before, and still remembered him like he had been in just last Friday. He briefly wondered if he still had Riza's old number memorized. The one that she had disconnected when she moved in with him.

Of course, this time it wouldn't be Riza picking him up. Hopefully she would never know about this little escapade, it would just give her one more reason for her to be disappointed in him. Because that was what it was all about. Because the idea of her disappointment was what scared him the most. Anger she would get over. Hate, well, that would never happen. No matter what he did, he would never be able to make her hate him, and he was all too aware of the fact. But disappointment. The thought of her being disappointed in him, rather angry or irritated, that was too much to bear.

And she would be disappointed, once she found how he had dealt with his outburst.

Finally, after god knows how many shots, the bartender refused him service. He asked if he wanted the same girl to pick him as usual, (yes, please yes) but he shakes his head and hands him a slip of paper that he put in his pocket in preparation for being so drunk that he couldn't remember who the number belonged too, much less the number itself.

When Havoc got the phone call, it was later than he would've normally stayed up. It had surprised him, actually. He thought that Roy had given up the whiskey when he and Riza had gotten married, yet here was a phone call from Julius (a man who he still visited every once in a while, much to the disgruntlement of his wife) saying that Roy was in his bar, too drunk to ask for another shot.

Well, tonight was a good a night as ever to go for a drive.

By the time he had gotten back from the bar and pulled into his driveway Roy was drooling on the dashboard, fast asleep. He couldn't help but think that he had seen him in that state before, just in his old office rather than in his car, and asleep from boredom, rather than incapacitated from alcoholic intake.

"Just like old times, eh Chief?" He might as well have been talking to a corpse.

He shook him in an effort to wake him; though he had made a somewhat miraculous recovery, he still didn't have enough strength to carry Roy inside his house. Luckily for Jean, he woke up.

"C'mon, Chief. You're going to have to drag your own ass inside." Roy gave a grunt that sounded something like a 'yeah' and managed to lift himself out of the car. Once they got inside, Roy located the nearest couch and literally fell onto it, making a heavy plopping sound as he hit it. Jean figured he had fallen asleep before he made contact with the leather sofa.

"Honey, where have you been? You left without a word?" His wife stepped into view and Jean rubbed the back of his neck ashamedly, armpits still supporting the aluminum crutches.

"Sorry baby. I got a call from Julius that an old friend was down at the bar." She ruffled her nose, and he couldn't help but think of how cute she looked like that.

"You went to the bar again? You know I don't like it when you-"

"Relax honey, I just had to go pick up an old friend. He was too drunk to drive himself home, or walk himself home for that matter." She gave a light 'oh' and went softened her approach.

"Who is this friend of yours?"

"See for yourself, He's asleep on the couch. I gotta go find his wife's number."

"You took him back here? Don't you now where he lives?"

"Well, yeah." It wasn't that he didn't know where he lived, who didn't know where the Fuhrer lived? It was just that he had mumbled something about screwing up real bad, so he wanted to check with Riza before he dumped him off. "I just need to give his wife a call, too see if everything's alright." She gave a slight nod, and left to check on her unexpected house guest.

Riza felt slightly ashamed of herself. True, he shouldn't have gone as far as she had, but she should've known better than to throw him out. He would undoubtedly take it worse than he should have, was liable to end up in a ditch, drunk and broken (in more ways than one). Not to mention he would probably get the idea that she would want to leave him for some strange reason. He got that idea in his head far too often, especially when they had been dating. Now she had given him a reason to harbor the doubt in him once again, and it would probably take a good long time to convince him otherwise.

She had just needed some time _away_ from him. Some time to cool down and forgive him for what he'd done. The last thing she wanted to do was push him away. So it was a relief when she got the phone call from Havoc telling her that Roy was at his house. It was a big relief to know that he hadn't managed to kill himself.

She had, of course, told him that she'd be over right away, not thinking about what she would do once she got there. She just needed to see him, and shed decide what to do when she got to that point.

As she got ready she saw the large red handprint displayed across her cheek and reached for the makeup to cover it up with. _No._ The thought came to her suddenly, spontaneously, but she knew that she was right. This mark, this blemish, was Roy's fault, Roy's problem. She wouldn't try to cover it up, because it wasn't hers to cover up. Roy would have to live with the consequences of what he had done; she wouldn't make excuses him.

Feeling more confident from her decision, Riza fixed her hair and threw on something so that she was presentable, and got into her car to make the journey to Havoc's place of residence.

She knocked on the door, and Jean answered it almost immediately, and invited her in quickly, allowing her to escape the pouring rain.

When she saw Roy on the couch she breathed a sigh of relief, content to know from firsthand experience that her husband was safe. She turned to Jean and started to thank him.

"Jean, I-"He put his hand up, not accepting her gratitude.

"You would have done the same thing if it was me, and you know that's the truth. Don't apologize for taking my time or anything like that, because it's not needed." He then looked up to face her square in the face and saw the large red mark. Realization dawned on him, realizing fully what had happened, and why he had the Fuhrer occupying his couch. "Hawkeye, if you need him to stay here for the night, were more than willing to let him."

Hawkeye looked of to the distance, as if she was pondering the offer he had just made. Then she came back to him with a firm resolution.

"No. He needs to wake up in my bed tomorrow; he needs to know that I've forgiven him. The sooner he knows that that then the sooner he'll forgive himself." This woman in front of him never ceased to amaze him. Always willing to put Mustang's needs before her own.

"And have you forgiven him? Don't deceive him, or yourself, Hawkeye." She looked him directly in his eyes, almost defiantly.

"Yes. I have forgiven him." And that was it. She gathered Roy in her arms and made for the door. Right before she exited the house, however, she turned and once again looked him directly in his eyes.

"And Havoc? My name is Mustang, not Hawkeye."

**I think I like this. Please review to tell me if I should or not.**


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